Chapter 2 Temptation and Counterplay

# Chapter 2: Temptation and Counterplay

I slept surprisingly well that night, dreaming of mice in traps and men on leashes. By morning, I had formulated my plan.

The listening device under my desk was high-quality—something my father's security team would use, not something an assistant would have access to unless specifically provided. Another confirmation of Evan's true purpose.

I arrived early, before even the most ambitious employees, and carefully removed the bug. I examined it between my fingers, this tiny betrayal, before slipping it into my purse. Then I sat at my desk and waited.

Evan arrived precisely at eight, a cardboard tray with two coffees in hand. His hesitant smile faltered when he saw me already there.

"Good morning, Ms. Winters," he said, placing one of the coffees on my desk. "I wasn't sure how you take it, so I brought cream and sugar packets."

"Black is fine." I took a sip, watching him over the rim. "Did you sleep well?"

A slight flush colored his cheeks. "Yes, thank you."

"No lingering thoughts about our conversation yesterday?"

His eyes flickered away from mine. "I... I'm not entirely sure what you meant by it."

"Aren't you?" I set down the coffee. "I have a meeting with R&D in an hour. You'll accompany me. After that, I'd like to show you something in my private study."

Curiosity and wariness battled across his face. "Of course."

The morning progressed with brutal efficiency. I tore apart the R&D team's proposals, demanding better results with fewer resources. Throughout it all, Evan took meticulous notes, occasionally offering insights that were surprisingly astute. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought him genuinely helpful.

By noon, I had terrorized enough employees to establish my dominance and cleared my schedule for the afternoon. I led Evan down a corridor to a section of the building few people accessed—my father's private suite, now mine.

"This is the executive study," I explained, unlocking a heavy wooden door. "My father used it for sensitive meetings. Now it's mine."

The room was impressive—leather-bound books lining the walls, a massive desk of polished mahogany, and a seating area with plush armchairs. Windows overlooked the city skyline, though the glass was specially treated to prevent electronic eavesdropping.

Evan looked around with poorly concealed fascination. "It's remarkable."

"It's secure," I corrected, closing the door behind us. The lock engaged with a soft click. "No one can hear us in here. No signals in or out."

I watched realization dawn on his face as I reached into my purse and placed the listening device on the desk between us.

"Interesting accessory to find under my desk," I said conversationally. "Not standard office equipment, is it?"

His face drained of color. "Ms. Winters, I can explain—"

"Can you?" I moved closer, enjoying the way he backed up until he hit the bookshelf. "Because it seems quite straightforward to me. My father sent you to spy on me, and you're doing exactly that."

"It's not what you think," he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction.

I laughed softly. "What am I thinking, Evan? Tell me."

"That I'm just here to report on you." He straightened his shoulders, finding some reserve of courage. "But I'm here to help you succeed."

"By bugging my office?"

"By... by ensuring your father remains confident in your leadership."

I stepped closer still, until we were inches apart. "My father has never been confident in anything I've done. That's why you're here—to control me, to influence me, to seduce me if necessary."

His breathing quickened, pupils dilating as I invaded his space. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" I reached up, trailing a finger down his jawline. "You're attractive, intelligent, seemingly harmless. The perfect honeytrap."

"I'm your assistant," he said weakly.

"You're a spy," I corrected. "But the question remains: what am I going to do with you now?"

Fear flashed in his eyes, quickly followed by something more complex—intrigue, perhaps. Even desire.

I turned away and walked to my desk, pressing a button underneath that locked the study door from the inside. "You can't leave until I decide to let you go."

"That's kidnapping," he said, though he made no move toward the door.

"Is it? You came willingly. You work for me." I sat in one of the armchairs, crossing my legs slowly enough to draw his eye. "Come sit."

After a moment's hesitation, he sat in the chair opposite me, perched on the edge as if ready to flee.

"Tell me, Evan," I said, leaning forward slightly, "do you enjoy working for my father?"

"He's been a good mentor."

"That's not what I asked."

He looked down at his hands. "It's... complicated."

"Because he asks you to do things like this? Installing surveillance equipment? Reporting on his daughter's activities?"

His silence was answer enough.

"What would he say if he knew I'd found your little toy? That I have you locked in here with me?" I tilted my head. "What would he say if he knew how you look at me when you think I'm not watching?"

The flush returned to his face. "I don't—"

"You do," I interrupted. "And it's fine. I'm used to men looking. The question is whether you're willing to admit why you're really here."

He met my eyes then, something shifting in his demeanor. "What do you want from me, Celeste?"

The use of my first name—deliberate, intimate—caught me by surprise. A small act of defiance or an attempt to regain control?

"The truth," I said. "And then, perhaps, your loyalty."

"My loyalty is—"

"Misplaced," I finished for him. "My father doesn't deserve it. He uses people until they break, then discards them."

Something flickered in Evan's eyes—recognition, perhaps. Had my father already begun to discard him?

I stood and moved to perch on the arm of his chair, watching him tense at my proximity.

"You have a choice to make," I said softly, running a finger along his collar. "Continue being my father's puppet, or..." I let my hand trail down his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my touch.

"Or what?" he whispered.

"Or admit what you really want." I leaned closer, my lips near his ear. "You're caught between assignments now, aren't you? Spy on me, report on me, but also tempt me, distract me. What happens when those missions conflict?"

His breathing had become shallow, his eyes fixed on my lips. "What do you think I want?"

I smiled, sliding my hand up to cup his face. "I think you're intrigued by me. I think you're already questioning your loyalties. I think..." I brushed my thumb across his lower lip, watching his eyes darken, "you're wondering what it would be like to belong to me instead."

I could feel him trembling slightly beneath my touch. Desire? Fear? Perhaps both.

"Tell me," I whispered, "are you a spy, Evan? Or do you want to be owned?"

The question hung between us, electric with possibility. I leaned in, closing the distance until our lips were a breath apart, then pressed my mouth to his.

For one suspended moment, he remained frozen. Then, with a soft sound of surrender, he kissed me back, his hand rising to tentatively touch my waist.

I pulled back just as he began to respond, leaving him leaning forward, chasing my lips.

"You need to decide," I said, standing up. "Are you my father's man? Or my pet?"

He stared up at me, lips parted, confusion and desire warring on his face.

"I'll unlock the door," I continued, moving toward my desk. "You're free to go report today's events to my father. Or you can stay, destroy that bug, and prove where your loyalty truly lies."

I unlocked the door with another press of the button, then walked out, leaving him alone with his decision. As the door closed behind me, I smiled to myself. The trap was set. Now I just had to wait and see if my little spy took the bait.

---

That night, as I prepared for bed in my penthouse apartment, my phone buzzed with a notification from the building security system. Someone was accessing my private elevator—someone using Evan's newly authorized credentials.

I smiled into the darkness. Round one to me.

My phone rang moments later—not Evan's number, but one I recognized all too well.

"Father," I answered coolly. "It's late for a social call."

"What are you doing with my assistant, Celeste?" Richard's voice was controlled, but I could hear the tension underneath.

"Your assistant? I thought he was mine now."

"You know exactly what I mean."

I laughed softly. "I'm simply getting to know my staff. Isn't that what you wanted?"

A pause, then: "Don't play games you don't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You sent him to watch me, report on me, maybe even control me. But you made one critical error."

"And what's that?" he asked, voice dangerously soft.

"You sent someone who could be turned." I heard the elevator chime in the background. "Goodnight, Father. I have company."

I ended the call and turned toward the elevator just as it opened, revealing Evan standing there, looking both determined and terrified.

"She knows everything," he said into his phone, eyes locked on mine. "I can't control her..." A pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end—my father, undoubtedly. Then, with finality: "But I don't want to continue the mission anymore."

He ended the call and stepped into my apartment, the doors closing behind him.

The game had just become infinitely more interesting.